


Hira no Hiro

by svana_vrika



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Tachibana Makoto, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Bullying, Established Relationship, Faeries - Freeform, Fluff, Healer Tachibana Makoto, Kissing, M/M, Marking, Possessive Nanase Haruka, Protective Nanase Haruka, Rimming, Spirit - Freeform, Top Nanase Haruka, Whimsy, ass eating, canon tropes, magic user nanase haruka, makoharu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svana_vrika/pseuds/svana_vrika
Summary: The older the world gets, the more the older ways are forgotten. But, every once in a while, someone is born back into them with a gift so unique that a hero is sent back with them to protect them from the evils without and the darkness that grows within.
Relationships: Matsuoka Rin/Yamazaki Sousuke, Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55
Collections: Nanase Haruka Birthday Exchange 2020





	Hira no Hiro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knoc0ut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoc0ut/gifts).



> Written for [knoc0ut](url) for the 2020 Nanase Haruka Birthday Exchange 2020. I was told you wanted Makoto & Haru and that you liked AU; I hope you like this little flight of fancy I came up with. I had a lot of fun writing it! ♥
> 
> TW near drowning

There’s a boy in school that everyone stays away from. Haruka finds it strange, because the kid seems just fine to him, even if it is a bit odd that he’s always smiling, even when there’s nothing to smile about. But he’s not loud or rude or mean, he doesn’t butt in or intrude, he just keeps to himself, sometimes playing under the large trees on the playground, sometimes laying in the grass, green eyes always shining, lips often moving as if he’s talking to himself. 

Okay, so maybe _that’s_ a bit strange. But even so, Haruka can’t hold it against him. He talks to himself all the time, just in his head versus with his mouth.

Haruka spends most of his time alone, too, but that’s by Haruka’s choice. He hears his parents with their friends and his teachers talk about _hoping that he’ll grow out of it_ , but Haruka doesn’t think he will. People, as a whole, are annoying; noisy and nosy, frequently selfish, and sometimes cruel. The way they treat and talk about that boy just shows it, he thinks. How stupid of them to call him weird and dumb and other, much ruder, things just because he’s not the same as them. All that makes him is interesting. And that alone is enough to make him special. Because Haruka is rarely interested in anything.

The days grow longer as they shift toward summer. Classroom windows are open, the breeze blowing in; it’s the closest Haruka comes to being happy at school as the wind carries the scent of the ocean on it. He loves the sea; everything about it. The beaches and creatures, how the ocean smells and sounds. He has for as long as he can remember, and if he had his choice, he’d be there all the time. He thinks about that boy for some reason and how he’s always surrounding himself with green, living things. Is it the same for him, he wonders? Haruka pouts a little bit. If so, he has it pretty easy compared to himself. The ocean’s just too far to run to on recesses and lunchtime. But he’s not really mad. Just a little jealous.

When the bell rings at the end of the day, Haruka hurries even more quickly than usual. Grandmother is picking him up today, and that means a walk by the ocean. Not on the boardwalk; that’s every day. But truly _beside_ it, and she’ll let him pick up little stones and shells along the way—and the sun is just hot enough today that maybe, _maybe_ she’ll let him take off his shoes and socks and play in the surf a bit. His eyes sparkle with the thought as he pushes open the door.

“Stop it!” The shout comes from the other exit and Haruka turns toward it. His eyes go wide when he discovers that it had come from that boy, which is silly because of course he has a voice, even if Haruka has never heard it. He follows with his gaze, watches him run over to one of the hedges that a couple of boys from the year up are poking under as he shouts again, “Stop it! You’ll make them mad if you don’t!”

Haruka’s brow dips with that; he wonders who the boy’s talking about, because he doesn’t think the teachers are going to care about some kids crawling under a bush, especially after school’s done for the day. But then his jaw drops and his eyes widen again because one of the guys at the hedge stands up and pushes the boy to the ground. “Shut up, stupid weirdo!” He shouts back with a kick, and then another, and Haruka doesn’t know what happens then, at least, not until the bully’s flat on the ground and Haruka’s seething down at him with a throb and a trickling sensation down his right fist.

“You shut up,” he says through heated breaths, and then he turns to check on the smaller boy, only to gasp when he sees that he’s _still_ trying to plead with the one older kid.

“You don’t understand,” he’s saying shakily, and something goes funny inside of Haruka’s stomach and chest because he can see that the littler boy is hurt. “Please…”

“Haruka?”

Haruka’s head jerks up. “Grandmother!” He’d forgotten all about meeting her up front, about the ocean, about everything except for stopping that jerk from hurting the littler boy again. He looks to the left again when he hears the two older kids scrambling to get up and, even though he figures he’s likely in trouble for hitting one of them, he can’t help but feel a bit pleased at how pale their faces are and how quickly they run now that there’s an adult around.

“Haruka.” This call of his name is shy, slightly shaky, and accompanied by a light grip of his hand. Haruka tenses, because—despite him having run to his rescue just a moment before—he doesn’t know this boy at all, but then a gentle warmth soothes through him and he looks down at their joined hands. His jaw drops softly as, beneath this boy’s fingers, the knuckles he’d cut when he’d punched the older boy’s mouth knit back together like new.

“H… how, did you…” But then, with a sweet smile, the boy drops unconscious.

“Oh! _Oh!!_ ” Haruka cries out, helpless, but then his grandmother takes his other hand, lightly squeezes it, tells him it’ll be alright before she kneels to tend to the boy.

A knock at the door pulls Haru back from his conscious roaming of that memory. His true surroundings come back into view: stark, white walls, linoleum floor, narrow bed about overtaken by the one laying unconscious upon it. _Idiot Makoto,_ Haruka thinks, part angrily, but just as affectionately, and he lightly runs his fingers through the tousled brown locks before dropping his hand away as the nurse comes into the room.

Haru does his best to pretend like he’s not heard it a hundred times before—or at least a handful—as the nurse tells him that CT, MRI, bloodwork, everything checks out fine; that Makoto had maybe been a little too stressed, or a little too dehydrated, and had just passed out. “It happens all the time,” she says kindly before telling him that, once Makoto wakes, they can leave, and Haru just nods and quietly thanks her. After all, it’s not exactly like there’s a test that can be run to diagnose… whatever it would be called when an idiot healer’s given too much of his own personal energy to save someone.

Haru sobers. With him, the flow from Makoto is a natural thing, something completely subconscious, triggered by the strength of their bond. When he’s hurt, Makoto doesn’t bother with potions or poultices, he’s literally healed by Makoto’s touch, usually by the time Makoto’s done stroking through his hair and frantically asking if he’s alright. He doesn’t even have to have direct contact with the injury. And when he’s sick, all it takes is some time in Makoto’s arms and the illness is pushed away. It’s incredible, even after all these years, and he used to be afraid of it—still is in the darker corners of his mind, but only because of the toll it takes on his best friend and partner. The little blips like kitchen cuts and common colds are nothing, really; Makoto has grown since that first time he’d healed Haru that way, and he is _strong_. But these bigger instances, the ones that drain him to the point of passing out, are _so_ risky. Because if Makoto gives _too_ much of himself, well.

Haru shivers, shifts in the chair so that he can draw his knees up and hug them to his chest. Thank Spirit that They gave Makoto a built-in failsafe and that he _does_ pass out before he gives every bit of himself away. A slight smile curves up Haru’s lips. They likely did because they know Makoto’s heart as well, know that it’s so pure and so large that he’d drain himself without thought if it meant saving another.

And, They gave Makoto him as well.

“Grandmother!” Haruka cries out as he returns to the memory, hospital room fading around him until he’s back in the school courtyard again. “Is he okay? What did he do to me? Is he going to die?” The questions rush out in no order, one on top of each other.

“Hush, Haruka,” she soothes from where she’s knelt on the ground beside the boy. “He’s not dead, and I think he’ll be fine. We do need to get him home, though.”

“How? Grandmother, I don’t even know his name!” And isn’t that a strange thing, not only having rushed to this boy’s defense, but feeling so broken and utterly helpless that he can’t do a single thing to help him. But then Grandmother smiles up at him as she carefully lifts the boy in her arms.

“It’s alright, child. I’m certain I know where to take him.”

Hundreds more questions jumble through Haruka’s head as he follows his grandmother, but he can’t catch onto a single one to ask, and that’s probably for the best, anyway. Grandmother is healthy and the boy—and oh, how Haruka wishes he had something to call him other than that—is small and lanky, but he knows that it still has to be a chore for her. Especially when they near their neighborhood and its hills.

 _Their_ neighborhood.

Haruka’s eyes go wide and he suddenly knows _one_ question he can ask. “Grandmother, who do you think he is?”

Grandmother smiles down at him as they turn toward the shrine steps. “I believe that he’s a Tachibana.”

Grandmother is right; it’s evident as soon as the door slides open after Haruka knocks as she’d asked him to. A pretty woman with a beautiful smile just like the b—like Tachibana’s—opens the door, but it falls into utter panic when she sees the burden that Grandmother bears. Grandmother soothes her, similarly to how she had Haruka, tells her that she believes he’s just fainted as they step inside the house. Haruka worries his lip. He’s not been invited but, after a second or two, he comes in anyway and kicks off his shoes, because he can’t stand the thought of not knowing for sure if Tachibana’s going to be alright.

Carefully, Grandmother lays Tachibana onto the sofa. Haruka hovers in the doorway, scooting out of the way when Tachibana’s mother comes back in with a cool rag. _Please be okay, please,_ Haruka thinks to himself, realizes he has been the entire walk, and his hands sting and he blinks when he realizes he’s had them clenched so tightly in his worry that there are red crescents in his palms. _Please be—_

“Were you aware of his abilities?”

Grandmother’s question to Tachibana’s mother breaks through Haruka’s train of thought, but the younger woman’s response screeches it to a complete halt.

“No,” she says with a small smile. “His would be the generation for it to manifest again, but we thought that, perhaps, it had left us, as the time for auld magic seems to have passed.”

Haruka may be young, but he’s smart and wise for his age; he can tell that her _thought_ was meant to be _hoped_ , and it hurts him a bit, enough to where he comes in from the doorway and stands at the smaller boy’s side with a little frown. “He saved me,” Haruka says, tipping his chin toward the sofa, and he continues over their soft gasps, “He saved the bully kids, too, even though one of them shoved and kicked him, so don’t say it like that. Like it’s bad.”

“Haruka.”

Whatever was left on Haruka’s tongue he swallows down at that particular tone, but he doesn’t move from his spot and his hands are clenched again. “What is your son called?” Grandmother asks then, voice her usual, gentle tenor, and she nods when the younger woman tells her. “My grandson exaggerates just a bit,” she says with a slight laughter in her voice. “He was in no mortal peril, I assure you. I wasn’t witness to the entire thing, but from what I did see and from what Haruka has said, an older boy was trying to reach a faerie ring under a hedge and his friend got physical with your Makoto when he tried to stop them. Haruka’s hand got injured when he came to Makoto’s defense and Makoto used his _Ki_ to heal him. Are you alright, dear?”

Haruka is startled out of his own shock with Grandmother’s question, her change in voice, and he looks over at Makoto’s mother, who’s now pale and has dropped to her knees. “seven threes,” she whispers as is to herself, and then, eyes large, she looks to Grandmother again. “I’d forgotten about that part of it. But… how? Legend has it that, when that power _does_ manifest, the transfer of _Ki_ is only activated in a life or death situation because of the potential cost!”

And Haruka can see that this bit of information has caught even Grandmother by surprise, before a sort of gentle awe and affection chases it away as she turns to him with a thoughtful, “How, indeed.”

“Haru. Ne, Haru!”

This time there is no gentle fading, just an abrupt pull back from the conscious memory into the hospital room again. It’s a bit painful, and he scowls as he looks up. “What?” he demands of Rin, but then, as he focuses, he starts to put things together: Rin’s pallor, the tearstains on his face, the grip he has on Sousuke’s hand, their presence in the first place. “What?” he asks again, more gently this time, as he straightens in his chair.

“Makoto!” Rin all but shouts, as if Haru’s daft for even having asked. “Makoto,” he repeats in a softer, shakier, tone, and he dashes a hand over his eyes. “Is he—”

“He’s fine,” Haru assures when Rin pauses to collect himself. “Everything’s come back fine. He’s just resting.”

“Thank god.”

Haru turns his gaze back to his partner, features softening. “Ah.”

“Haru.” Haru glances back up at Rin and something inside him freezes a bit. Anyone who knows Makoto knows of his gift because Makoto is kind and gentle and _good_ and he would heal the world if he could, never mind those he knows and cares about. But nobody outside of Makoto’s parents and Haru, since Haru’s grandmother has passed, knows the extent of it. The few other times it’s reached this extreme, the modern medical professionals have passed the other’s recovery off as a miracle or luck—both of which are true, Haru thinks, heart clenching with a rush of pride and fondness for the love of his life—but just not attributed to Makoto or his presence. This time, however, he’s pretty sure the secret is out, judging from the bit of awe and fear in Rin’s eyes as he stares at Makoto’s unconscious figure. “Haru, what the hell _is_ he?”

Haru’s eyes narrow. “Makoto is Makoto,” he bristles, though he relaxes a little with Rin’s sheepish apology. “What happened?” he asks after accepting it with a nod, and Rin looses a shaky sigh.

“Makoto made up more of that rub for Sousuke’s shoulder. I was going to meet him at the restaurant and pick it up, but he offered a swim instead since it’s been a while. I called Sousuke to let him know where I’d be once he got in, then decided to head to the pool early. I was doing laps and got a cramp, a bad one. I tried to make it to the edge, but I couldn’t breathe and started to panic. I…” He swallows, visibly shaking now, and Sousuke steps behind him, loosely wraps his arms around him, draws him back. Rin closes his eyes, takes a slow breath, and releases it. “I tried to take another breath at about the same time it seized harder, and I ended up under and drawing in water instead. The edge was right there, so I reached for it again, and other than feeling a sharp pain in my head, that’s all I remember until opening my eyes and seeing Makoto smiling down at me and telling me that everything would be fine, before he passed out.”

“I got there in time to see Rin go under,” Sousuke picks up quietly. “I got him out, did everything I could, but I couldn’t get him to come around. I thought I’d lost him. I _should_ have lost him,” he amends in a much tauter tone, arms tightening around the redhead. “But then Makoto got there and…” Sousuke trails off, then gives a snort and a half shrug. “And I don’t know. But the next thing I _do_ know, Rin’s conscious and talking, the gash on his head’s about healed, and Makoto’s the one unconscious.”

“He gave his _Ki_ ,” Haru says quietly, and then, after the mingling of Sousuke’s gasped _how_ and Rin’s blurted _what the fuck,_ “The abilities and knowledge carried through the Tachibana line, the ones everybody _knows_ about, only come every third generation. But every seventh set of three, they manifest fully, including the power to transfer _Ki_ in a life or death situation.”

“What, his death for my life?” Rin blurts. “That’s some bullshit, Haru! I… I’m glad to be alive, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want that!”

“He’s not dead, you idiot,” Haru snaps. “I told you, he’s resting. He passes out before he can give of himself to _that_ extent.” But it explains why Makoto’s not come back to him yet, Haru thinks as he looks at him again. It sounds like Rin had been pretty far gone and that Makoto had pushed himself extra hard. _Idiot,_ he silently echoes, but to his love this time, and then he sighs and looks back over at Rin and Sousuke.

“I promise that he’ll be fine. And I’m glad you’re alive, too,” he admits with the slightest smile because it’s true. “But Rin, Sousuke, you can’t say a _word_ about this. Please. Until now, the only ones who knew are his parents. Not because we didn’t trust anyone else,” he continues, meeting Rin’s eyes with as firm and as sincere of a look as he’s capable. “But it’s so rare that even an accidental slip could cause the wrong sort of attention. And I will _not_ let him be subjected to that.”

“We’re not gonna say anything, Haru, geeze! Like anyone’d believe it anyway, never mind that he’s our—” Sousuke cuts him off by lightly covering Rin’s mouth with his hand. 

“Got it,” he says simply as he holds Haru’s gaze, and Haru nods and quietly thanks him. “Tell him thanks for me?”

“I will, but you can tell him yourself, too. He’s going to feel badly that he passed out before he could heal that head wound, so I’m sure the first thing he’ll do once I let him is make something up for Rin. We know how he freaks over the thought of scars,” Haru can’t help but deadpan, and Sousuke smirks when Rin starts going off again behind his hand.

“Fair enough.” He drops his hand, once Rin has quieted, twines his fingers through the redhead’s. Rin glances at the bed and then back to Haru, gives him a small smile.

“Tell him thanks for me, too.”

“Ah.”

Haru watches them head toward the door and his eyes start to close, but then Rin stops just inside it. “Ne, Haru, how’d you know to come here anyway?” he turns slightly to ask. “I didn’t call. Did you call, babe?”

“No,” Sousuke replies, “But I’m sure Haru’s Makoto’s emergency contact, Rin.”

“But how—”

“Rin, let’s go.”

Rin huffs and lets himself be tugged away, but not without giving Haru a look that tells him that they’re not done. Haruka can’t help but smile a bit as he lets his eyes close again. Rin’s pretty smart all told, but he’s glad they’ve left, too. He really didn’t feel like trying to explain why he’ll always find Makoto when he’s in trouble.

“Grandmother, how did you know?” Haruka asks and, when he returns to the memory this time, they’re on the steps, hands clasped so that Grandmother ensures that Haruka navigates them safely. “How did you know he belonged to them? And about the faerie ring? I didn’t see that!”

“Hush, child,” she gently chides, but Haruka colors anyway and he dips his head and mumbles an apology. Once they’re inside, however, and he’s at the kitchen table with Grandmother cutting his apple birds, she tells him about the Tachibana and their skill, about the seven threes. “There was a time when all knew of them,” she continues as she sets the plate in front of Haruka and then turns to start tea. “But times change, as do beliefs. The older the world gets, the more the older ways are forgotten. Now, we may be the only family in Iwatobi who knows of their birthright.”

“Why us?” Haruka asks after chewing his apple, legs swinging back and forth against his chair.

“Well, the Nanase have never had a birthright power like the Tachibana, but once every generation or so, one is born with the ability to learn and practice magic. As such, we’ve always been at least aware of each other through the generations.”

“Can you work magic, Grandmother?”

“No, child,” she says with a soft laugh. “But I do believe in it. Even before little Makoto healed you in front of my eyes and I saw the faerie ring as I knelt beside him.”

Haruka nods and thinks about that for a few moments, and then the look his grandmother had given him at the Tachibana house comes to his mind. _How, indeed,_ she’d said with it, and suddenly Haruka’s eyes go wide.

“Grandmother, can I?” He sees her hands pause for just part of a second as she’s putting the tea leaves in.

“Perhaps,” she says in that same thoughtful tone, and when she’s finished, she turns toward him. “I would not be surprised. Every life is a special gift, Haruka. Every one of us is a miracle. But little Makoto is one beyond that. And I believe that you must be, too, for his magic to work as it had.” She chuckles softly. “I’m sure your knuckles stung, but it was hardly life or death, hm?” Grandmother sighs softly, runs her fingers through Haruka’s hair. “The knowledge and potential are yours to do with as you wish, child,” she says gently. “And, whatever you choose to do, I will love and support you. But, whatever that is, whatever you decide, I ask for a heart’s promise on this, Haruka; do not tell others of his gift. You’ve seen what innocent children did over knowledge as basic as a faerie’s ring. Imagine if word of his true abilities got out to the darker and more powerful forces in this world, hm?”

Haruka nods solemnly, but as Grandmother turns back to the kettle and he to his last two apple birds, his eyes narrow at them. There’s no decision to be made, Haruka thinks. It’s pretty clear that Makoto needs looking after, and if the idiot’s going to help even those that would hurt him, never mind run around giving his own life force to strangers, then the one Makoto needs most protecting from is himself. And Haruka knows as certainly as he’s sitting there that he’s the one to do it, even without how his body had seemed to just move on its own accord when Makoto had needed him.

That night, Haruka sneaks from the house, about as nervous as he is determined. Grandmother had told him that the knowledge and potential were his to do with as he wished, and he plans to, but he figures even she’d have something to say if he gets caught, or into trouble, or worse. But the draw is just too strong, and Haruka knows in his heart that it’s what he needs to do, so he carries on, down the stone stairs, and then toward the school. The moon is full and bright, lighting the way for him, the ocean’s waves a gentle companionship as they break the silence and seem to cheer him on and, before he knows it, he’s there and crouched in front of the hedge where the fight had been earlier.

He can see it plain as day now, the faerie ring his grandmother had mentioned. He knows of them and their powers and dangers through her stories but, until that afternoon, had thought they were only myths. Now, recalling how desperately Makoto had tried to protect even a bully from infuriating the Fae, he knows it’s all too real. But he swallows and, as the moon dips behind a wafting cloud, he crouches and slowly reaches toward the ring anyway.

“I fell in love with you that day, you know.” Haru splits from the memory at Makoto’s voice; straightens and turns, his younger self behind him and still crouched at the hedge. “I didn’t know what it was at the time, but that’s when it happened, for certain.” 

Haru smiles a bit as the moon breaks free and douses Makoto in its light. “I loved you before that, I think,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know what it was, either, but I couldn’t stop watching and wondering about you. And when you passed out like you did after healing me, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, I was that afraid that you’d been taken from me before I could know you.”

“Haru.” Makoto takes his hands, dips his head, presses a lingering kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry for this,” he says contritely when they part a moment later. “Sorry for scaring you again. But I had to, Haru-chan. More than ever before, I did.”

“I know. Rin and Sousuke came and told me. But Makoto, don’t be sorry. Never be sorry for being who you are.” Haru leans up and kisses him again. “Besides, I’ll always find you when you need me, and I’ll always bring you back.”

There’s a sharp, sudden glow behind them, more greenish than the moonlight, and they turn their heads and watch as the Fae surround Haruka, steal him into their world in punishment for violating their circle. Yet, neither of them are afraid, for they know how it turns out and, after gazing at the empty space a second or two longer, they turn and meet eyes again.

“Let’s go back, hm?” Makoto smiles. “I’m ready to go home.”

“Ah.” With a last kiss, the memory vanishes behind them and, as one, they open their eyes in the hospital room. “That took a bit,” Haru murmurs after a stretch and a yawn from his chair, and Makoto gives him a sheepish smile as he sits up and turns on the bed.

“I know. I’m sorry that I kept you waiting. But Rin…” He sobers, hands clenching into loose fists. “I don’t know that even I could have saved him had I been much longer.”

“You would have.” Makoto’s head jerks up at Haru’s confidence and he watches him as he takes the few steps to stand in front of him. “Perhaps not to the extent that you did, but you would have. Because you’re good, and strong, and Makoto.” Haru leans down, kisses his upturned mouth, then presses the call button.

“My hero, as always,” Makoto murmurs with a light touch to Haru’s cheek. “What would I do without you to lift me up and protect me, to come find me when I’m lost in the dark?”

“Idiot,” Haru chides even as his cheeks heat and his heart swells. “I’ll always protect you. Even from yourself.” He steps back when the nurse comes in to complete the discharge. As for the latter, that’s purely due to the Fae and the abilities to which they’d guided him. Though, as with Makoto and the passive transfer of _Ki_ where Haru is concerned, Makoto’s is the only mind through which Haru can walk. Which is fine. He knows Makoto’s mind, shares the majority of his memories. But the thought of entering another’s without knowing what lies within is somewhat terrifying.

Truthfully, most of Haruka’s abilities are tied directly to Makoto, save for a bit of talent with health and vitality that he imbues into his cooking. But even that goes hand in hand, he thinks as—about forty-five minutes later—they walk through the small business they’ve built in the once defunct storefront directly beneath their apartment; a successful restaurant at its surface, but also where people come for Makoto’s remedies and natural wares. And he’s fine with that, too. He’d only ever sought them out to help and protect Makoto anyway.

“Haru?”

Haru blinks at the call, turns his head up toward Makoto, tilts his head to the side when he sees the concern in his eyes.

“You still look part caught,” Makoto says softly, bringing a hand up to lightly brush beneath an eye. “Probably because you had to work harder to find me, huh.” His lips part for more, but Haruka stops him with a gentle press of a finger.

“Don’t. I did, yes,” he cedes because he won’t lie to Makoto. “But Rin’s important to us both. I can’t think of life without him, as annoying as he can be. I get why you pushed yourself so hard, and… I’m glad you did. But I’m also glad that Spirit takes over and disconnects you like They do.”

Makoto blinks and then laughs a bit. “I never thought of it that way,” he admits. “I always just saw it as passing out.”

“Semantics,” Haru murmurs as he lightly traces Makoto’s lower lip before dropping the finger and replacing it with his mouth. Haru kisses him slow and deep, smirks a bit when, after he breaks it, Makoto leans forward some with a quiet whine in chase of it. He doesn’t say anything more, just takes his hand and tugs him up the narrow stairs, and pleasure worms warmly into his gut with how docilely Makoto follows. They switch. A _lot_. Haru loves being filled by Makoto as much as he loves being inside him. But desire always takes second seat to the absolute _need_ to take care of Makoto after something like this. _Another sort of magic only Haru can do_ , Makoto had told him that first time when he’d laid sleepy and sated, after, and it’s never left him because, for as embarrassed as he _still_ gets thinking it, it’s so purely Makoto. Plus, it’s true, and that’s something that he could never be embarrassed by, that they are wholly and only each other’s. 

They don’t bother with the lights once they’re in their apartment. There’s no need for them. Haruka will come out later and cook if Makoto wakes up hungry. For now, he just tugs Makoto through and back to their bedroom. Haru helps Makoto out of his sweater and the shirt beneath then kisses him again, licking into his mouth then stroking over his tongue, encouraging Makoto’s into play as his hands slide down Makoto’s flanks and then in to unfasten his belt.

Haru feels Makoto’s hands at his shirt as he opens Makoto’s pants and, after running his fingers over Makoto’s dick through his boxers, Haru steps back and quickly strips. He pinks slightly, not out of discomfort—they’re long past that—but because of how Makoto looks at him like he’s the most beautiful, perfect thing on earth _every time_ , regardless as to how often they fuck or make love.

Makoto chuckles softly at the blush, touches a heated cheek. Haru grabs that hand, draws it down and steps into him again, releasing it so that he can grab Makoto’s hips, pull him close and roll against him. Makoto softly keens and drops his head back, so Haru does it again, pressing his lips to Makoto’s throat and then his pulse point. “Bed,” he murmurs against Makoto’s ear next and, with a nod, Makoto complies, green eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness as he settles in the center, parts his legs and draws them up for Haru to settle between. “Fuck, Makoto.”

It’s all Haru can do to _not_ lick his lips as he climbs onto the mattress. For as much as Makoto adulates him, Haru feels the same. There simply isn’t another being _anywhere_ that’s as beautiful and perfect as Makoto. “Mine,” he murmurs because he _can_ , and he can feel Makoto’s response to it, a tremble through his powerful thighs as he strokes them. “Mine.”

Dipping his head, Haru mouths over Makoto’s cock, then takes it in deep with a swallow. Makoto cries out, hips arching, and Haru softly growls, sucks at him hard on the way back up before swallowing him again. Leaving his dick, Haru laves over his balls and then lays a line of kisses along Makoto’s inner-most thigh as he pushes himself back some so that he can go lower. He smirks a bit when, with a soft, anticipatory whine, Makoto pulls his knees up toward his chest and then pushes his legs out. “Perfect,” Haru breathes and he presses a light kiss to Makoto’s hole, lazily rolling his hips against the bed to soothe his cock some as it spasms for him. “You’re so perfect, Makoto.”

Rocking down against the bed again, Haru licks at him, firm and slow, then teases his tongue around the muscle. When he’s good and wet, Haru prods at the center, another low growl escaping him when it gives. Makoto’s breathlessly crying his name, head lolling back and forth; he’s got an arm beneath either knee now, pulling them up and apart even further, and god, for as innately good as Haru _knows_ that Makoto is, the boy is absolute _sin_ when he’s sprawled out and wanting and begging for him like this.

Haru eats him out until Makoto’s taking his full tongue with no resistance, then moves his mouth back to Makoto’s inner thigh, sucking hard at the skin he takes between his teeth as he slides two fingers into him. Makoto shouts hoarsely and his back arcs, his ass sucking at Haru’s fingers until they’re in to the base knuckle. “Makoto,” Haru breathes in delight at his lover’s obvious greed. He laves over the bruise that’s blossoming, then he straightens to lick up and around Makoto’s cock as his fingers scissor and curl to stretch him deep, groaning softly as the salty sweetness of Makoto’s essence floods his senses.

“Haru-chan, Haruka, _please…_ ”

Haru closes his eyes with the want that rushes through him and he slips his fingers free, then quickly gets to his knees and moves in close because he knows how Makoto hates the emptiness. He bends over Makoto, brushing his lips over his left collar bone and shoulder as he snags the bottle of lubricant from their nightstand, and once he’s ready, he pushes in, slow and deep, to fill him again. Makoto sighs, soft and shuddering, and Haru’s filled with such an ardent affection that his chest aches with it. Makoto opens his eyes, because of course he feels it, but then he smiles, gentle and sweet.

“I love you, too. Haru-chan.”

Haru starts slow, with shallow rolls of his hips, keeping Makoto full as he kisses his lips, jaw, chin, his chest where his heart beats just for him. Makoto’s hands roam over Haru’s shoulders and back, through his hair, and when they drop to his ass with a soft groan of his name, Haru rolls in a bit harder, then pushes up, hooks one of Makoto’s legs over his arm so that he can take him faster and deeper. Makoto cries out for him on the first deep thrust and Haru’s eyes blaze with it, with how Makoto lays there, chest heaving, cock leaking, hands frantically twisting in their sheets, taking everything Haru will give him. “So good, Makoto,” he manages through his own panting breaths, “You’re so good for me.” Makoto’s voice changes with the praise, becoming breathier, more wanton; after watching him hungrily for a moment, Haru shifts a bit so he can take Makoto’s cock, and his own fills further, gut and balls tightening at the feel of the slick hard heat in his hand, the recollection of how it feels to be stuffed full by it.

Haru jerks him short and quick as he pumps into him, and he’s pushed to the edge himself when he sees and feels Makoto’s body go taut, sees his mouth go slack and hears his breath catch. On his next push in, he grinds hard against Makoto’s ass and Makoto shouts wordlessly and comes, spilling over Haru’s fist, constricting around him with each pulse; Haru manages a couple more thrusts once Makoto relaxes enough that he can move again, and then he’s coming too, Makoto’s name a choked gasp as his breath catches with the force of it.

Once he’s able, Haru relaxes, eases down onto Makoto, strokes through his hair, down his cheek, telling him how good he is, how much he loves him, until Makoto’s on the brink of sleep. Once he is, Haru kisses him gently as he eases out of him, then he slips from Makoto’s embrace to quickly clean himself up in the bathroom and then bring back what he needs to take care of his love. After he’s finished, Haru drops the cloth and towel down with their clothing, then lies down at Makoto’s side with a silent sigh.

Makoto rolls up, instinctively finding him, drapes an arm over his waist, pulls him close. “You spoiled me good, Haru-chan,” he says in a voice thick and sweet as honey, and Haru smiles because Makoto’s right where he wants him to be; completely blissed out and relaxed, Haru’s love for him filling him body, heart and soul so there isn’t an empty space left for any of the horrific memories Makoto bears within him to creep forward while he sleeps, truly sleeps, and gives his own energy a chance to fully return.

“You do me, too,” he says softly, because it’s true and because he knows that, even after all this time, it’s still important for Makoto to hear. Makoto smiles, he can feel it against his hair, and then, in a matter of seconds, he’s sleeping, breaths slow and even. Haru closes his eyes, homes in on the rhythm, lets it take him to his point of greatest rest, too.

Loving Makoto is dreadfully easy, and Haruka protects him without thought, but sifting through Makoto’s memories to find him can be draining. He’s just glad that, this time, it was a more pleasant one… and is gladder still that he hasn’t had to do it all that often. Makoto is worth every bit of it, though, the occasional fear and exhaustion, the steady stream of friends and strangers alike who seek him out, the way Haru’s life has had to expand to encompass it all.

His grandmother had told him long ago that his knowledge and potential were his to do with as he wished, and Haru’s never regretted trusting her on it, on taking the chance and seeking the Fae to teach him what he needed. He’ll go back to them some day to return it, when Makoto’s time has passed and the Tachibana magic has again left the earth; they said that he won’t be able to return, but Haru smiles a bit as he drifts to sleep. The Fae are powerful, but they’re ruled by the gods within Spirit, after all. So he thinks he will, when Makoto returns after seven threes. Because no matter what the world will be like, Makoto will be Makoto, and Haru knows he’ll need him there to protect him then, too.

He’s his hero, after all.


End file.
